The Diary Series
by AlanisJunkie
Summary: Journal entries for my favorite SVU characters. I'd enjoy positive or negative feedback. Was once called Miranda
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Law and Order: SVU. I will not profit from this and do this merely for my own enjoyment.

Summary: A diary entry.

Miranda

I know what everyone thinks about me. When I'm on a case, I walk and talk like I own the room. I'm a cool, levelheaded, but badass, detective with one pulsating thought coursing through my brain; Reel in the criminal. I don't sleep practically the whole time I'm on a case. Everyone says it's out of determination. Only I know the truth; it's out of fear.

The images of the victims, dead or alive, burn painfully into my brain. It becomes impossible to forget them. I used to sleep during a case but now the image of the new victim haunts every dream, guilting and goading me from sleep, to work harder.

I used to dwell on past cases. But now if I stop and think back, when I blink I see a victims face. And if I sleep, I see all their faces, molding and melting into one form. My mother.

I don't see her in my dreams often, but every time I do, this sickening feeling churns up in my stomach and this burning ill feeling spreads to every inch of my body, engulfing me completely. I hate, resent, this feeling, but it spurns me on and makes me want to work harder than I ever have to finish this case. Because when I do, all the painful feelings will finally subside.

I'm sure the others would ask Cragen to take me off the streets if they knew how each case terrifies and haunts me. I personally think this is why I make such a good detective. I manage to connect to female victims in a personal way. But I make sure never to get too attached.

I can't imagine the fear that would course, hot and painful, through my veins if I got too attached to a victim and something happened to them. I'd never forgive myself, and the haunting, burning nightmares would never let me rest again. I'd lose my mind, my job, and probably my life, too. This job is my life.

I'm not allowed to be afraid. So I swallow the fear and channel it. I use it to become the best goddamn detective on the force.

But the truth will always stand as such; I'm always terrified. But I'll keep my mouth shut. I have no choice.

Olivia Benson. You have the right to remain silent. If you choose to give up this right, anything you say can, and will, be used against you.


	2. The Appeal of Softball

The Appeal of Softball

I step up to the plate, prepared to play my heart out. The first pitch comes.

Swing. Miss.

That's fine. I have two more strikes to spare.

Swing. Miss. It's okay I can make it up with the last. One great hit, a homerun and I'll be redeemed.

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It was Olivia that once cornered me in my office and asked me "what the hell is the appeal to softball?" And I told her.

It's different from real-life. If you mess up badly, you still have at least two more chances to redeem that mistake. In life, if you mess up, normally that problem is unalterable.

But, I told her; it is sometimes eerily like my own life. I make one mistake, but it's fine. I fixed it by doing something else. I make one more mistake, fine. I can try to fix it again.

I remember the subtle confusion marking her face as she asked, "What was your first mistake?"

And I sighed as I sat behind my desk and after a long pause I told her. I told her about David. How I fell so in love with him during high school. How I ran away with him when I turned eighteen and we got married. And how he used to beat me every night.

I told her all this while staring at my desk and when I raised my head I saw tears threatening to spill from her eyes. So identical to the ones in my eyes when she told me about her mother.

Her voice cracked when she told me that it wasn't my mistake. And I told her that it was because I had been the one that insisted on marriage. But I redeemed it by getting a divorce and going to law school.

And that, I told her, actually was my second mistake. Novak women don't go to law school, they become secretaries that marry the lawyers and then raise a litter of children. And that mistake was redeemed when I began prosecuting Sex Crimes. I was doing something good for other people and in my parent's eyes, that's better than the life they had wanted for me.

"And your third mistake?"

I sighed again and told her that it was still beginning, but that I had an idea of what it is.

"What is it?"

I told her; I'm not strong enough, smart enough, brave enough, or clever enough to do this job. And I'm afraid that I can't handle it the way . . .

That's when I let my voice fade out.

"The way Alex did?"

"Yes."

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Here comes the pitch. And I just stand there. Is it a strike?

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"You're not Alex. And nobody expects you to be."

I could only stare dumbly at her, not sure about what she was saying to me.

"You're a great lawyer, Case. And just because your style differs from Alex's doesn't mean you're not just as good as her," she said and then she pulled me into a tight hug.

And I finally felt like I had completely become part of that family dynamic that the squad has. I was no longer the outcast.

"Let me buy you a coffee."

We walked out of my office together while I explained the real appeal to softball.

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Ball one. I have another try. And I'm going to take it.


End file.
